Frederick Smith Obituary

Frederick Douglas Smith
The late, great Frederick Douglas Smith, who audaciously crowned himself "Frederick of the Playa," left his extended family dazed and confused on September 27, 2023.

We watched for years as the psychedelic impresario collapsed into a mental and physical black hole, stunned that this playful ringmaster, who had an eye for the spectacular in life, performed a disappearing act that culminated with his heart giving out.

His death at age 69 had its own strange twists and turns, much like his life, which often was animated by conversations about psychedelics, cinema, sexual fluidity, philosophy, relationships, and endless fascination with females, all to the tune of the Grateful Dead, which he encouraged everyone to dance to at high volume in his living room or backyard.

At Burning Man, he would play the Dead until sunrise, managing to keep the living awake. Once, a guy from a neighboring RV, who didn't sleep a wink, pointedly remarked, "I never thought I would get sick of hearing the Grateful Dead until last night."

Frederick made quick friends with many of his neighbors, and not just for his raucous backyard dance parties. In his heyday, he was a frequent participant in community events and could often be seen cycling through his beloved Santa Rosa Junior College neighborhood. He moved there nearly 30 years ago with his former partner, Lory Osterhuber.

In honor of Frederick's return to cosmic dust, a psychedelic soiree will be held at his Santa Rosa house, where he emceed many mind-bending bacchanals. His only child, Aaron Smith, will host the clothing-optional celebration for friends and family sometime around Halloween, Frederick's favorite holiday.

Hopefully the ghost of Frederick surprises everyone with a visitation. Maybe even his late mother, Sondra Evans, will be there in spirit.

As his favorite band once sang, "All of my friends come to see me last night / I was laying in my bed and dying."

Joining Aaron, whose political efforts over the years blazed the way for cannabis legalization in many states, will be his mother, and Frederick's first wife, Rita Van Horn.

Frederick often spoke in glowing words about his son's accomplishments, which in many ways mirrored his own interests. In his living room next to his smoking, drinking and toking station, Frederick had a magazine cover of Aaron, describing how his son was a rising star in the cannabis industry.

Born on June 5, 1954, in Marion, Ohio, Frederick often spoke of his teenage psychedelic experiences with his boyhood friends, who called themselves "The Garrison." Marion was a fine place for mental alterations, after all it has a great cemetery where very strange things happened at President William G. Harding's tomb. "Marble is very slippery," Frederick would say, recounting a memorable lustful encounter.

During his teenage years, he lived with his grandparents in Marion and then also spent time in Huntington Beach, bouncing back and forth from the West to the Midwest.

In his glory days, Frederick displayed remarkable vitality and disarming brashness. Once, when he was a photographer at a newspaper in Victorville, California, then-Gov. Jerry Brown was late for an interview at a house with a pool in the backyard.

Frederick asked if he could take a dip while everyone else stood sweating in the sun. He stripped down to his bikini underwear and took the plunge.

Brown walked in minutes later, looked down at the swimmer, and said, "He's the only sensible person here." It was likely one of the few times Frederick would be described as "sensible."

Often, even when he contradicted himself, sliding from one thought to another, he was someone who lived in a world of his own making, inviting us into it.

Robert Hunter of The Dead summed up the sentiment of his extended family, which is mourning the loss of someone we loved: "Fare you well, fare you well / I love you more than words can tell / Listen to the river sing sweet songs / To rock my soul."